


Sometimes

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-15
Updated: 2005-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7095862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike asks Wesley for a little favour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

Sometimes, not even the feel if a dagger sheathed at your belt is enough to make you feel secure. Even if you have a throw-axe strapped to your thigh, or a stake at your hip, or a pocket knife in your, well, pocket. Wesley doubted very much that he would have the opportunity to use them all. Whether that was because he’d be perfectly safe throughout this whole ordeal, or because he’d be dead before he even thought about reaching for a weapon. Only one of those options really sounded appealing. 

Trying to tell himself that this was only a bar and that worrying so much would only be folly was not working. Especially when a six and a half foot tall Fyral demon chugging down a pint is sitting next to you. On the other side, a denim-jacket wearing vampire proudly displaying his game face leered at the very nervous Wesley, who smiled back politely, took his own drink in hand and quickly moved off the stool and towards a table at the back of the demon bar. He’d been waiting for a good hour now, and if he hadn’t of been so very petrified for his own life, he would have left by now. 

But lo, a familiar bleached blonde finally entered through the door, his stride confident and gazed automatically fixed on the Watcher who tried to make himself look as small as possible. Demons around them glanced towards the vampire with faint recognition, though Spike paid them no attention as he strode right over to where Wesley was sitting, pulled up a chair for himself and sat down on it, instantly sprawling into it. “Sorry I’m late, I was just getting a bite to eat before I got here,” Spike drawled, and Wesley tried not to think of whatever innocent had died to sate the vampire’s thirst. “Prices here are a bitch, aren’t they?” 

“I suppose so,” Wesley said, trying to keep the waver out of his voice. 

“So, Watcher, tell me why we’re here,” Spike said, hands clasped and resting in his lap, feet coming up to rest on the wooden table between them. 

“You asked me here, you tell me,” came Wesley response, and took a quick sip of the drink he had purchased at Spike’s raised eyebrow. 

“Yeah, I did. I want you to do something for me. And you will do it, won’t you?” 

“It depends on what you ask of me.” 

Withdrawing his feet from the table, Spike lent forward, arms folding on the wooden surface. A slight maliciousness sparked in his blue eyes, and Wesley looked down, focusing on Spike’s hands rather than his face. Painted black nails tapped against the table’s plane, pale hands like spiders, slender and probably very skilled. “No, it doesn’t depend on anything.” Spike’s accented voice cut through the thick silence between them, forcing Wesley to look up. “It’s called blackmail, Watcher. You do something for me and I’ll do something for you. The thing that I plan to do is to not tell your home-boys back in the UK about that rather pretty boy you took with you the other day. I hear the Council rather like their nice, shiny, polished image. It’d be an awful thing for one of their lot to have some sort of *dirty* background in pulling a whore from the streets, now would it?” 

A hot flush spread across Wesley’s cheeks, remembering that night. It wasn’t a particularly classy thing, taking the young man into an alley with him. Wesley hadn’t wanted to participate in paid sex back at his own place – perhaps it would make things better if it was just quick and casual, in an alley, away from others. He didn’t have to be Wesley the Watcher for a while – he could just be some sexually deprived man willing to pay for a quick one with someone willing to give. Spike hadn’t been a part of that plan, but as life would have it, there was the vampire, watching with a gleeful smirk. A lot of stammers, a lot of taunts, and finally the information had been conveyed that Spike wanted to meet Wesley at this bar, at this time and on this night. 

“And what proof have you got?” Wesley asked, though the false confidence in his voice was gone, now. 

“Enough that you’ll want to take note of every word that comes out of me mouth,” Spike said with a rather victorious smirk at the despairing expression Wesley had taken. 

“And what, dare I ask,” Wesley started after a long pause, his words slow and deliberate, reluctant to continue this conversation, “would you have me do?” 

Spike looked at him for a moment before sitting up and back into his chair, inspecting his nails. The tenseness in the air lessened somewhat, though Wesley’s own nervousness didn’t. “You’re a Watcher. Full of all sorts of Watcherly skills. I need a spell.” 

“A-a spell?” 

“A love spell.” 

Now it was Wesley turn to arch an eyebrow. He quickly took a sip of his drink before he could chuckle cynically, and choking somewhat as Spike flicked up a sharp glare. “Sorry, but I must ask… a love spell?” 

“Long story that we don’t have to get into, yeah?” Spike’s voice was sharp and Wesley was instantly cut, fading back into meekness. Staring into his drink, he heard the vampire give an irritable sigh. “You know me, yeah? You’d’ve heard of Drusilla.” A nod and a brief explanation of studying famous vampires before Spike cut him off. “Yeah, whatever. Well, she’s hightailed it with some other bloke. And I want her back. Get her back for me and history’s history, I’ll never speak of you paying some bloke to suck your cock ever again.” Another blush and Wesley silently fumed at the rather satisfied smirk Spike wore. “But the memory should last me a few nights,” the vampire added with a snarky drawl. 

“Must you talk of it in such a way?” Wesley hissed, glancing around to make sure that no one else heard. 

Spike leant forward again, reaching out to take Wesley’s drink and swallow down a good lot of it. Setting the mug down with a decent thud, he then said, “Well? You up for it?” 

“No, but I suppose I have no choice,” was Wesley rather timid response as Spike stared holes through him. 

“Good,” Spike said, standing up with a rustle of leather as he adjusted his trench coat. “Tomorrow night you’ll go to the warehouse out in the forest. Hard to miss. Come alone and with whatever supplies you need. I’ll be watching, Wyndham-Pryce. You tell the Slayer, the other Watcher or anyone of those idiots, and there’ll be hell to pay. I can ruin more than your reputation.” With that thread echoing in Wesley head, Spike turned to leave, but not before having one more thing to add. “And don’t bother bringing weapons. Or at least, don’t try and be a Swiss Army Knife with so many accessories that Barbie herself would be jealous.” 

And with that, he was gone, shouldering passed demons and ignoring anyone who snarled at him. Nervously finishing off his drink, Wesley thought to wait for maybe fifteen minutes, so that it didn’t look suspicious, and to make sure Spike was well away when he decided to leave. But about half a minute later, Wesley half ran out of the place and slamming the door behind him. 

\--- 

Wesley had arrived before sunset. He didn’t know why – probably because of the fact that he didn’t want to encounter any more of Sunnydale’s undead population than he had to. After shouldering open the rather uncooperative door, the Watcher had taken the time to investigate. No sign of Spike, unfortunately. Wesley had been half hoping to catch the vampire unawares and drive the stake he had brought along through the blonde’s heart. Yes, Spike had said no weapons – but what sort of idiot listened to that kind of instruction? Besides, it was hidden safely at Wesley back, tucked into his belt with a shirt and a longish coat over it. Easy to get to yet hard to find. He had also taken his pocket knife with him – keeping it unsheathed, he had strapped it securely to his calf, under his trouser-leg. 

A shoulder bag held the witching supplies that Spike had told him to bring, and this Wesley set down on a rather duty bench. Turning away from it and folding his arms against the slight chill in the air, Wesley inwardly cringed at the reason why he was here. He wished that Spike hadn’t have become part of it – blackmail, and the fact that now what would be a pleasant memory had turned into a fairly embarrassing nightmare. Such a hot, skilful mouth the rent-boy had, around his erection for a rather cheap $50 an hour. How Wesley had been tempted to take the young man home, despite his own reluctance to do just that. How he had wanted to be buried inside the nameless boy, collapsing at the end of it in inviting bed sheets. Suddenly, he didn’t want the boy to be nameless, wanted the young man to be his, forever. Doesn’t matter who it was, just wanted to be wanted and- 

“Is this a private moment?” came the cockney accented voice through the silence. Startled, Wesley opened his eyes, not really aware that he had shut them, so caught up in his fantasy. Spike gave him an arch look, gaze flickering down Wesley’s body. A hot blush spread across the Watcher’s features not for the first time in Spike’s presence, but he set his lips in a firm line and ignored his own arousal. 

“Can we start?” Wesley asked with possibly too much sharpness, turning away to grab the bag off the bench. 

“Pushy, aren’t we?” Spike teased from where he stood. “This way, then.” Grabbing the bag he had set down, Wesley was led upstairs and into a room that was less grungy. A bed was set against the fair wall, the windows boarded off from sunlight and a night stand carried a lamp and a packet of cigarettes. 

“It’s a bit of a fixer upper, I’ll admit,” Spike said flippantly. The Watcher nodded, turning away and suppressing the urge to just bolt. Behind him, he heard a rustle of leather as Spike’s shed his duster, and a crackle of paper, and then the flick of a lighter. It wasn’t long until the acrid smell of cigarette smoke reached Wesley nostrils. He’d never been one for smoking – mainly because he had always recoiled at its scent. This time was no exception. Wrinkling his nose, he ignored the vampire for the moment as he walked passed him, flicking on the lamp and looking around. Licking his lips and glancing at Spike, suppressing his own nervousness, he knelt down at a more open space at the end of the bed. He opened the bag and pulling out a book, candles, his own lighter, a plastic packet of canary feathers, a few other items that one wouldn’t normally carry around. 

“You need all that?” Spike asked from behind Wesley, footsteps signifying the vampire walking closer. Shivering slightly and not only from the coolness of the air, Wesley set about creating a circle from the fat, squarish, pink candles. Reaching to light the furthest one, Wesley frowned a bit when Spike stepped close up behind him, then the sound of clothes moving as the vampire knelt down there as well. 

Before Wesley could ask, a firm hand grabbed the back of the Watcher’s jacket and pulled it up, pushing Wesley forward so that he was on all four’s. A sharp cry of surprise and a stab of fear to his heart, frightened of the vampire’s intentions. Fingers at the waistline of his trousers and then… 

The stake was removed. 

Breathing hard from excess fear, Wesley rocked back into the kneeling position he had taken before, blinking, bewildered as Spike sauntered away out in front of him, fiddling with the stake. “I said ‘no weapons’, yeah?” The stake was pocketed into that leather trench coat and the vampire wore a smirk as Wesley still remained stunned into silence. “Well? Carry on, don’t make a bit of frisking bother you,” came Spike’s order, a chuckle evident in the words. 

“I’ll need some time to ground myself and prepare for the spell,” Wesley heard himself speak, watching his hands place things into order, lighting the rest of the candles. Wesley himself was actually in the corner of his own mind, shivering and trying not to think too much, trying not to interpret Spike’s avid stare as a hungry one. And if it was, it certainly wouldn’t be for anything other than blood, that was for certain. Wesley didn’t even *want* to entertain ideas about attraction between he and the vampire – it was dangerous territory and besides, Spike was evil and Wesley didn’t like him. Not one little bit. His legs looked nice in those jeans, though. 

“You’ve got all the time in the world,” Spike said, leaning against a nearby wall, arms folded, cigarette dangling between his lips. Wesley wasn’t about to point out that it would be easier without the vampire’s presence – he doubted that Spike would actually comply. 

Clearing his throat a bit, mainly to break the heavy silence, Wesley glanced around the area. Despite the superficial cosiness, it was such a filthy, rotting place, of rotted wood and damp air. The whole place was rancid in its own way, dank and dark and dirty. Wesley just wanted to leave. And in order to do that, he’d have to do this bloody spell. The Watcher sighed and concentrated, the book before him opened and ready. Scanning over the Latin words, he closed his eyes. Breathe in, breathe out. Watcher’s training had always instructing him to prepare in such a way before a spell. To go blundering into magicks ungrounded was folly, after all. 

Minutes went by, and Wesley felt himself ready. Just a few more seconds and- 

“Is this going to happen any time soon? I have plans for August, you realise,” Spike snapped. 

Despite himself, Wesley sighed irritably. “These things take time.” 

“Too much time.” 

“You said I had all the time in the world!” Wesley protested. 

“I didn’t bloody well mean it,” Spike growled sharply, making Wesley jump. He felt so out of control here, so out of his depth. He could try and run, but Spike would most probably kill him as soon as he shot to his feet. His stake was taken away and a pocket knife didn’t kill a vampire unless one was patient enough to hack away at said vampire’s neck until he’s decapitated. Wesley regretted not telling Giles, though what could he say? ‘Help, Spike is blackmailing me with information of me paying a whore to get rid of the damage ten years celibacy has given me’? Wesley couldn’t imagine that conversation going so well. 

“Just… just let me do this properly,” Wesley said, voice wavering, ignoring Spike’s predator-like pacing as he closed his eyes behind his glasses once more, hands clasped and sweaty. 

And then, more words. It was getting increasingly clear that Spike was bored. “Who were you thinking of, down stairs?” came the taunting question. “Not the rent-boy from last week, surely.” The vampire was practically purring, trying to get under Wesley’s skin, and it was working. A tense silence and Wesley knew that the vampire wanted a response. In an attempt to keep the bleached blonde happy, the Watcher did so, despite his meditation. 

“I was thinking of someone, yes, but not necessarily the y-young man,” he managed, blushing once more. 

“Who, then?” 

“I’m not sure,” Wesley said out loud, before muttering, “anyone.” He glared at one of the lit candles in front of him as Spike’s derisive chuckle. 

“Anyone? Well, now I understand why you pulled a whore. So *very* desperate.” 

Wesley closed his eyes. He didn’t have the head-space for mind fucking. He didn’t have the emotional security to deal with it. He wanted for the ground to open and swallow him up at that very second, so that he could hide in the dirt and the brimstone of deep, deep down, near the core of the earth where no one could find him. He had heard it was warm down there all year round, after all. 

“We’re in the same boat, then,” he found himself saying. A sharp ‘what?’ from Spike, and normally, he would have cowered in his own mind and said nothing, but he wanted to speak, so he did. Looking up at a frowning Spike, he continued. “I’m desperate enough to pay for pleasures. You’re desperate enough to brainwash someone into loving you. Perhaps we-” 

A snarl cut him off and suddenly he was pushed to the ground, knocking over two candles and scattering the small silver bowl of canary feathers. Knees took the air out of him as they landing in his stomach, hands on his shoulders. Instinctively, Wesley brought up hands to protect himself, but they were grabbed and pushed aside. A hand, cold and firm, curled at his neck and he looked up at predator yellow eyes. “We’re not in the same boat, you remember that,” came the low, threatening growl. “And I’m *not* desperate. There are other ways in which I can get here back – this is just one. She loves me, yeah? She just needs to remember it.” 

Wesley nodded, if only to get the obviously angered vampire off of him. Spike glared for a moment, before shifting out of his game face and standing, feet on either side of Wesley. “Alright then,” the vampire said simply, turning away to pace. Wesley sat up, propping himself up on his elbows and watching Spike walk towards where his cigarettes lay, lighting another. Shakily, Wesley turned to pick up the fallen candles, relighting them slowly. 

Then snapping. 

Scowling, he stood out of his crouch and started towards the exit. “Oi!” came Spike’s exclamation, though Wesley paid it no heed, picking up the pace. But a hand grabbed a hold of his elbow, and he swung to punch the vampire. And, to his surprise and his fist’s horror, his hit connected with Spike’s jaw, sending the blonde reeling. A feral growl, and Spike went again to grab the Watcher. Panicking, Wesley bent, withdrawing the pocket knife from where it was at his calf. Stabbing without thought, he buried the blade into the vampire’s forearm. A grunt of pain, and Wesley was thrown back into the room, onto the bed. The door that led outwards was slammed shut and Spike angrily withdrew the blade from where it was imbedded. “What do you think you’re doing?” the vampire growled menacingly. 

“Getting away from this, I don’t particularly want to be here,” Wesley said, glaring at somewhere over Spike’s shoulder, not wanting to look the other male in the eye. 

“Yeah? Did you forget the little detail about how I will fuck up your entire life if you don’t-” 

“I don’t care,” Wesley blurted through gritted teeth. 

“Well I bloody well do!” Spike roared back, losing his temper so much that Wesley started from where he half-sat, half-lay on the bed. “I *want* her *back*. You’ll do what I say or I won’t even bother to tattle to the bleedin’ Council – I’ll just kill you slowly and painfully then torture Dru into loving me.” The growl in his voice faded, and he regarded Wesley with a glare, and the Watcher managed to stare back without trembling. “You have a good deal here, Wyndham-Pryce.” 

“Yes, a superb deal. Cast a spell for one of the more blood-thirsty vampires of the last century and get taunted at and abused the entire time,” Wesley replied bitterly. 

“You’re a man, you can take it,” Spike sneered. 

“That’s no excuse, I don’t *have* to take it.” 

“Well, yeah, you do, actually,” Spike replied blithely, the tone in not only his voice but also his stance changing. It was more relaxed, but for some reason, it made Wesley even more nervous. He watched the vampire carefully as Spike stepped forward, the wound in his arm dripping blood but neither of them really noticing it. “You will bloody well take whatever I choose to give you.” 

“Stay away from me and maybe we have a deal.” Wesley didn’t know where the sudden bravery had come from. He wished it would go away so he could do the stupid spell and get out of this stupid situation. 

“Now you’re giving me orders?” asked Spike with a smirk, getting to close for comfort. Wesley didn’t answer, just got his feet from the ground and went to slither to the other side of the bed, but again his arm was caught in a firm grip and was stopped. “Would you stop trying to get away? Gets old, Watcher.” 

“Get off me,” Wesley demanded, then inwardly winced at the slight plead that had coursed its way into the words. What had happened to false bravado he had been flaunting around before? True, he had willed it away, but now he just wanted it back. Perhaps then Spike wouldn’t smirk so condescendingly at him, the grip on his arm tightening. 

“Ooh, uncomfortable?” 

“Somewhat. Let me go. I’ll do the spell.” 

“Yeah, you will,” Spike drawled, kneeling on the bed as well, his grip on Wesley’s arm almost bruising. “But remember what I said about you taking what I choose to give you?” Wesley didn’t answer. In fact, he would have answered if he had been given the opportunity. He would have said: ‘yes, I do recall that, actually, and I am strongly opposed to it. Now, let go of my arm so I can finish this confounded spell or you will have a chasm where your genitals used to be.’ Well, he would have liked to say that. But whatever it is he was going to say, he would never have found out, because no opportunity was given. No, cool lips were pressed against his in a sudden, jolting kiss that quickly became thorough. 

“Mph!” was his indistinct response, twisting his head away. “Get off me!” he managed to yell in his state of shock. Managing to yank his arm out of Spike’s grip (not without gaining some bruises in the process), he twisted around to kick the vampire away, but instead, his leg was grabbed and yanked upward, forcing Wesley on his back. A load of almost maliciously playful and definitely bored vampire launched itself onto Wesley with no fighting style the Watcher could pick up on. Every punch and slap he threw was blocked and forced aside, and inevitably his wrists were pinned down and his waist straddled. The situation itself was frustrating and Wesley’s desire to be eaten up by the earth was even stronger, but the annoying calm, cocky expression on the vampire’s face. That was the thing that made this whole experience just a bit less bearable. 

There was a pause in their scuffle and Spike managed to render Wesley immobile for the moment. Before Wesley could ask what was happening, Spike got there first. “There’s been a change of plan,” the vampire drawled. If he had of been in the position to light up a cigarette, he would have. “You’re desperate for this,” he ground down and chuckled as Wesley’s eyes widened in mortification, “and I haven’t had a shag in a while. What’s say we do that, I get someone else to do the sodding spell for me, mum’s the word when it comes to this whole Council issue, and it’s all set in stone?” 

It took a few moments for Wesley to recover the English language before replying. “I-I would rather just do the spell… I’m perfectly capable-” 

“Sod the spell, I want this instead. Besides, I think you want it too.” 

“Not from *you*! Not like this!” And so the prodigal bravado makes a return. Before he could mouth off any more, his wrists were released and a sudden, sharp backhanded slap was also. Wesley’s head was turned under its force, a sharp cry torn from his throat as white-hot pain flooded his jaw for just a second before fading into a dull ache, throbbing under and through his skin. “W-what was that for?” he asked shakily, a hand rising to press against his cheek. 

“Knocking some sense into you. You were willing to pay for it, I’m here to give it to you for free. And right now you’re facing this or life-fucking. You have three seconds to choose, Watcher, as I’m getting impatient,” Spike said. 

“What? But-!” 

“One.” 

“No, I don’t want-” 

“Two.” 

“It was different when-” 

“Three.” 

“Fine!” 

A deathly silence filled the area, and they stared at each other, a sizzling electricity between them. Nothing romantic, not even wanton desire. Just an understanding of the decision that was made. They didn’t have to like each other – they didn’t plan to. Only this. Only Spike bending down and kissing Wesley for the second time that night, a scorching kiss that was devoid of sympathy and romance and sweetness. A searing fuck-me-now kiss that made Wesley want to do just that. 

Memories and knowledge of Spike – of what he was, of his snarky blackmail and taunting words. Malicious and hateful and evil. Everything. The stories he had heard, the research necessary to be a Watcher. It was all eliminated from memory, just forgotten. William the Bloody was a fiend, the sort of fiend that Wesley was sworn to help kill. But now, he wasn’t Wesley the Watcher. He wasn’t even Wesley. He was just a man, like every other man, that just wanted to give into his darker desires. And Spike, for now, was just another man who was able to give that to him. 

False bravado was gone, meekness was gone, his own sense of self was fairly lost as well. Wesley grabbed a handful of Spike’s shirt and in the midst of the heated kiss between the two, he was able to shove the vampire to one side and kneel between the now startled blonde’s legs. “We do this my way,” he found himself saying. Spike just tilted his head, watched him for a second, before wordlessly nodding. 

Prostitutes know what they’re doing, generally. They make a living out of it. But so many details that the young one missed, plainly out of a lack of real experience, that Spike was making up for. A hand tangled into Wesley’s hair, guiding and caressing at the same time. A nibble on the bottom lip, an interval to bite bluntly on his neck. Wesley’s hips descending against the juncture at Spike’s thighs, grinding down and smirking somewhat at the vampire’s stunted moan in response. Pulling away, Wesley knelt up again, tugging at the vampire’s T-shirt until it was off. Another pause, another electrical stare, and there was a shuffle as clothes were taken off. The movements weren’t frantic, not yet – there was plenty of time for frantic. Just undressing, uncovering what would be each other’s in a moment, exposing inch by inch with knowledgeable appreciation, savouring the seconds ticking by. Or perhaps that was just Wesley – he couldn’t be sure. He doubted very much that Spike in the same frame of mind as him. But that didn’t matter – why Spike was doing this was Spike’s business. As long as he was doing, that was all Wesley cared about. 

No more words, no room for that, just lips kissing and taste and teeth biting on flesh, after Spike had pulled the Watcher down for more contact, skin against flesh and no wall of fabric dividing them as two separate beings. To become one by means of flesh, for a hand to run over a thigh and for a mind to not be sure who’s was who’s, that was what Wesley desired. To be lost in this man, under his skin, deep within him so far that Spike would become deep within Wesley. Fingers pulling and tugging him, and there was no shame in your head falling back and groaning in pleasure. Glasses discarded and two sets of blue eyes locked again as Wesley pushed part the vampire’s thighs, fingers clawing at skin, skin so soft that it reminded Wesley of fruit, easy to break. He wanted to break, wanted to rip and shreds and find solace there. 

Hands, hands stronger than his, wrapped around his forearms, bringing the Watcher’s attention up. Slowness, predatory almost, took form and shape in Wesley’s movements, and he marvelled at the way these sorts of situations changed him. He wasn’t the awkward scholar that no one wanted to love or want – he was different, a sexual creature, flesh and bone and blood, taking what he wanted and giving whatever he had in return. Kissing as if he owned Spike, hips descending against the vampire’s as if there was no shame in doing so. 

It was almost too soon when his manhood was then buried deep inside the vampire, both vocalising their reactions to the dry entrance, but no traces of pain were found in their cries and moans. A strong arm wrapped around his waist, and Wesley buried himself deeper, crying out as he felt, with such acuteness, the tightness against his erection, squeezing and seemingly pulling him in further despite the resistance the ring of muscles around Spike’s entrance gave. The vampire growled, roughly tangling a hand in Wesley’s hair and yanking slightly in a ‘get a move on’ way, impatient and almost as wanton as the man on top of him. Complying, though not without a warning glare it Spike, Wesley moved, drawing out of Spike than in again, angling his hips as he did, and then again, seeking that spot with the immortal. A gasp and growl signified that Wesley had managed to do so successfully. 

Licking his lips, Wesley started a pace, a slow drawn out one, which made sure that every thrust was deep. Legs wrapped around his waist, the vampire arching up and expertly clenching and exactly the right times. A whimpering moan escaped passed Wesley’s lips and he felt that perhaps he would collapse at that second. But he forced himself to remain composed, as much as was possible, closing his eyes to simply enjoy this… this… whatever this was. He wasn’t sure what and he certainly was not going to dwell on it at that moment. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” 

Spike’s words cut through the air, as they had a tendency of doing, and Wesley’s eyes flew open, as if shocked that the vampire had spoken. In the midst of his own pleasure, he nodded weakly, trying not to break the pace, wanting again to find that spot with Spike that would make the vampire forget the English language. 

“You’ve been wanting this,” the blonde continued, though breathless despite the lack of need to breathe. “Wanting to be all up inside someone, like an escape of sorts, yeah? Wanting this, wanting someone wanting you. How many nights have you wanked off to the thought of-” 

“Shut up!” Wesley found himself yelling, pausing in another bout of surprise at his own outburst. He calmed, breathing hard, pausing his movements. “Just… don’t speak until we’re over. I can’t…” 

“Can’t handle it?” Spike finished, taunting tone as thick as ever. 

Wesley eyed him for a second, a wordless answer, a wordless agreement. Spike, with a show of having won, nodded with a smirk and closed his eyes, bucking up again to get the motions started once more. Almost warily, cautiously, Wesley started again, as if trying to eliminate Spike’s words through this contact, this feeling, this *thing* he’d been desiring for too long a time. 

He pushed himself in and out of Spike, managing to make the vampire moan, and that moan would reverberate in his memories for a long time, he was sure. So beautiful, such sharp features, he wanted to touch… he realised he could. Running a hand up the centre of Spike’s torso, he caressed the vampire’s neck before the backs of his fingers skimmed along the other man’s jaw, then up, fingertips brushing lightly against jutting cheekbones. He expected Spike to turn his head away in annoyance, but instead, the constantly confident expression on the vampire’s face flickered, lips parting in a soundless moan as he lent against it, almost cat-like in the subtle movement. Wesley dared to run his thumb across Spike’s bottom lip, other fingertips following. 

His ring finger was taken into the vampire’s mouth, then out, and his palm was kissed. A keening moan sounded from the back of Wesley’s throat at these details, these things that a cheap whore would miss, as Spike’s hand covered Wesley’s. His other hand was held as well, lifted off his hips, Spike’s entangling his fingers with Wesley on both hands, and they stared at each other again, palms pressing against each other, fingers locked. 

Spike arched up, tightening incredibly around Wesley, and sparks flew before his eyes as he felt himself near the end of this particular journey. Biting his lip, he whimpered, not wanting it to end, but it would. He felt it. A pressure that had been building was about to break, and as he was yanking down to kiss Spike with a furious, evident hunger, arms encircling him, he could hold onto to it much longer. Crying out loudly, a hint of despair in the wordless moan, he came with a violent shudder, muffling the sound against Spike’s lips. He felt the vampire shiver at this, coming as well, spilling between them and soaking both of their stomachs. There was a deathly silence, both of them breathing hard and just lying there, tangled and clearly satisfied, however tired. 

“So…” Wesley ventured to speak, “are you going to kill me?” 

There was a snort as an answer, and Spike continued with: “No, you’re much tastier alive anyway. Now sleep, you’re tired.” Yes, Wesley *was* tired. Licking his lips and considering the possibility that sleeping with a century-year-old serial killer was not the greatest, most intelligent idea in the world. But his muscles and fatigue said otherwise and he inevitable drifted off. 

\--- 

It was, perhaps, five or so hours later that Wesley woke up to the sound of clothes sliding against skin. His eyes cracked open, and there was only darkness. Slowly adjusting to being conscious, Wesley moved his arms, trying to find how he was positioned. Naked and stomach down on a large, empty bed, an arm trapped under him and painfully tingly, his other arm splayed out beside him. Licking dry lips, Wesley pulled himself to sit up, blinking in pitch blackness, then wincing and blinking more as a lamp was switched on. 

“Took us a while to wake up, didn’t it,” Spike stated. He was, unlike Wesley, standing and wearing pants, though his normally slicked down wasn’t as slicked down as usual, and a slight sleepiness was still painted in his eyes. In one hand, pinched between two fingers, was a newly lit cigarette, smoke catching the light and the embers glowing. 

“You’re leaving,” Wesley responded, not as a question, either. Ignoring protesting muscles, he pulled himself to sit up against the headboard, pulling rumbled bedclothes over his lap. 

“I am. Need to hunt, kill, do all thoughs things that you Council blokes are so opposed to,” he said gruffly, turning away to pick up his short, which was pulled on efficiently, before walking across the room to get his coat, and Wesley saw that the vampire already had shoes on. “You can show yourself out, can’t you?” he said carelessly, starting passed the bed and towards the door. 

Wesley suddenly dived across the bed, grabbing Spike’s wrist and opening his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He had words, had a sentence, but couldn’t bring himself to actually turn in it into speech. But Spike got it – could see it in the Watcher’s eyes and in his actions. Spike looked at him for a second, almost pitying, before hardening up and shaking his head. “Too complicated, pet. Can’t do that,” he said gently, before pulling his arm away and disappearing out the door. 

Wesley lay there for a few moments, trying to think, before numbly sitting up, and slowly standing to gather his clothes, pulling the garments on as slowly as he had taken them off hours before. Now there was something missing. The raw sex was over, and now the tenderness afterwards wasn’t there. If it was possible, Wesley felt lonelier than he did before. Swallowing back what could have been the start of crying, he checked the room and left, not bothering to gather the witching supplies as he went. 

\--- 

He should have been training his Slayer. That was his job. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Besides, both Faith and Buffy were perfectly happy with training on their own; Wesley was almost convinced that he was not needed. Well, he certainly wasn’t needed, when all his thoughts were filled with a certain intimate encounter two nights back. Giles had asked him what was bothering him, and no answer could be formulated – no true one, at least. Wesley had told the older Watcher that he was feeling under the weather and the conversation had ended there. 

He walked, now, hands pushed into the khaki trench coat pockets, carefully not thinking as he watched his feet against the pavement, managing to avoid bumping into people without looking up. The nighttime streets were desolate, however, so this task was easy. It was just a boring, chilly night in the middle of the week. 

A hand, a cool familiar one, was at his elbow and suddenly hauling the Watcher into an alley. The only thing that prevented Wesley from crying out was another cool hand pressing against his mouth, devious blue eyes gleaming in the dark. “Good evening,” Spike purred, pressing against Wesley and into the wall, coat protecting the Watcher from the scratchy surface of bricks. 

“Spike?!” Wesley hissed in surprise, more shocked than scared. “What’re you…” His words tapered off as tepid, soft lips pressed against his neck, that sweet spot just over his pulse. For a second, his heart froze over with fear, before he realised that Spike was not about to bite him. “Why…?” 

“Why not?” came the somewhat impish reply, words muffled against the skin of Wesley’s neck. Tickled slightly. Wesley tilted his head to get Spike away, and the vampire pulled back, a smirk firmly fixed on his lips. 

“But I thought you would have left town by now.” 

“Thought I’d stick around for a bit.” 

“But… too complicated, you said.” 

“Perhaps I can deal with that,” Spike shrugged, still firmly pressed against Wesley. “Besides…” A fingertip grazed across the Watcher’s jaw line. “Never got to properly say goodbye, now did we?” 

Wesley really did try to suppress the smirk – honestly. But it just happened, much like the warming blush that burned his features. “But that would involve having a proper greeting,” Wesley found himself reply. 

“Let’s do that, then, shall we?” Spike murmured as he pressed his lips against Wesley’s. 

Some thing feel wrong, and you know it instantly, even if you need it as badly as Wesley had needed Spike those couple of nights ago. But then, some things feel right, even if you don’t need them at all – you just know it’s what you should be doing, what’s good for you, what’s *right* for you. And as Wesley kissed Spike back, and later did so again in his apartment as he was being carefully undressed, and then again the next morning after asking whether Spike would be leaving now and receiving a ‘no’ for an answer… he knew then that sometimes, and only sometimes, things would click into place. In the most unlikely places, sometimes - *sometimes* - things would actually turn out right. 

And all uncertainties would disappear, and all loneliness would be gone. Because of that particular ‘sometimes’ that happens, on occasion. 

 

end


End file.
